The Dawn of Hell
by Bloodredfirefly
Summary: She was the angel child, the supposed saviour. He, the borderline-rogue vampire that led the New York Clan. When he saves her life, offers her his protection and hides her from Sebastian, she has no choice but to accept his help - no matter what he wants in return. Set post-City of Glass. Non-Canon.
1. Prologue

Prologue

Raphael POV:

It all happens so fast he barely understands, even though he knows that it's his hands reaching out for her, his fangs sinking into the demon's poisonous hide. She was such a broken mess of a thing, lying on the concrete ground with a Manticore pawing at her hip, hungry for blood but lacking the finesse to make a clean kill. Maybe that's what drove him to it – he certainly didn't care if she died, but he'd be dammed (twice over) if she suffered through the night, wishing for death.

With a growl he tears again into the struggling side of the demon, his hands like iron chains wrapped around the tail with its hundred knives, the lion head with its jaws of steel. He doesn't need to remind himself not to swallow the blood that fills his mouth, he's spitting it out every few seconds to clear the taste. There's a triumph in the kill though and _that_ he allows himself to enjoy.

Behind him someone splutters and coughs like they've had demons down their throat too, and he drops the carcass hastily, slipping down beside her. He hadn't forgotten about Clary, the little angel girl, but he'd been neglecting her and now she would pay. It's a red beauty that only a vampire can truly appreciate to have blood spilling into the gutter, flaming hair fanning outwards and pale skin growing colder by the second. A horrific beauty, a nightmare, but a beauty all the same.

"Clary," he urges her, the regal little voice in the back of his mind silenced, "can you hear me?"

"Yes, yes… Raphael," is all she manages, but he can tell she's surprised. After all, he's no hero, no knight in shining armour. He's the last person she'd expect as her saviour, right up there with the Demons themselves.

"Hold on darling," Raphael says and wraps his arms around her – half tortured and half delighted to find her blood so close to him, touching his skin. His hotel is no more than a five minute journey and he grabs a gutter one handed, hoisting them onto a rooftop. The view is brilliant, the sky laid open for them, but the true wonder is the scent rising from her aching wounds, from the pulse at her neck. Even as he sets of at a dead sprint, soaring from rooftop to rooftop he wants to hold onto the moment forever, so that he can always remember the euphoria of being the guardian of an Angel.

"Raphael," she says again, weak but alive, "where…."

"We're going to my place, via the exciting route," he jumps again and she sucks in a breathe, suddenly realising their dizzying height, "but don't worry, you're safe."

He drops gracefully into his street, pulling her more securely against him, making her squirm.

"Is that really necessary?" She hisses at him and he shushes her, leaning down to whisper and hiding his fangs from curious eyes as he strides to the Hotel confidently.

"You Nephilim really bounce back, don't you? And yes, I can hardly parade you, covered in blood, about the town. They think you're drunk and they probably think I'm taking you back for sex, but since that's both legal and fairly moral, they'll let it pass."

"_Moral?_"

"I bothered to get you insensible. That's good for this side of the neighbourhood." He passes the grate in the floor and goes to the back door, bordered up decades ago but cut open by his coven. Opening it is tricky enough with both hands so he places her carefully on the grass and unhooks the wood carefully – on the outside it looks jammed in place but each screw is carefully too short, each plank looped under a board so that when undone they spring free easily. Instead of pulling open a single door he pulls open half the décor, but it's still much quicker than the grate and staircase. He picks Clary back up bridle-style (making a quick joke about thresholds that she slaps him for) and then closes it carefully behind him once he's carried her in.

"Sorry, damn door, takes forever but no wolf has worked it out yet. They still come charging up the narrow staircase every time they want to attack us, you know."

"Luke wouldn't attack you." It's a statement, but her voice is wavering, the adrenaline draining from her.

"Did I mention him? No, it's the other packs, those with more scores to settle with us - though they come away with half their comrades revenged and twice the life debts to pay." He shakes his head at the folly and starts a quick jog as soon as they hit flat ground, talking to her all the while – though proud voices override everything in his mind, since when did _he_ talk in full sentences, or answer questions instead of giving commands?

"Lily?" He calls, aware that the scrambling at the corners could mean only one thing, that his coven had caught her scent. "Get down here, and bring a med box!"

She responds to the command instantly as he knew she would – she's not much of a healer but her strong self-control means that she can treat Clary's injuries without biting her, which is more important than being good with plants. He would be at a loss to even know where to start.

Marching through the halls he snaps at any vampire who dares come close, taking her through to the Transformation Room where they usually bury their dead and wait for them to rise again. He will move her later to his own rooms. It has a hospital bed and he places her in there before snapping his fingers at Lily to start the work. He wants to stay, to watch over her, but he can feel a hundred pairs of eyes trained on the door, waiting to see if he's weak enough to cave to his desires.

Not that he desires her – well, no more than any other beautiful girl. Even in his sudden craze to please her, he knows that he wouldn't be doing this if she wasn't useful, if saving her wouldn't buy him favour in Idris.

He brushes his hand over the flames of her hair as Lily patches her up one scratch at a time, feels how smooth and soft each strand is, and then he steps back. Walking out on her he goes to face the music, one hundred younglings vying for his attention, all begging for a drop of the sweet girl's blood.

"Go," he snarls at the newbies hanging round the corners – the older ones know not to touch her. A prize brought in by one vampire can only be taken by a vampire of higher rank, and since he's the leader… she's his, for as long as he wishes to keep her.

**A/N: I hand around chocolate brownies and sexy vampires to all who have finished this chapter! Thank you so much!**

**Review my fic and I'll review yours in return! **


	2. Him and Her

Him and Her

Clary POV:

"_Mom, I'm not six, I'll be fine. Can't you just leave me alone?"_

"_Honey, what's the matter?" Jocelyn's worried voice only serves to annoy Clary more as she hastily grabs things for Simon – comic books, juice drinks, a packet of Pop-Tarts, three razor sharp knives – and shoves them into a backpack._

"_The problem, Mom, is that my best friend has just been thrown out at sixteen and you – you think that it's too dangerous for me to get the subway to go see him. Do you know how many creatures would love to see the great Daylighter defeated?"_

"_The Mark of Cain-"_

"_Everything, everyone can die. Do you think there aren't enemies out there? Do you think they won't do anything to hurt us, to hurt Simon?" She's really angry now, jerking the zipper and nearly breaking it when it gets stuck – by the Angel she hates the damn thing._

"_I know there are demons, Clary, don't talk to me in that tone! We have enemies and so we must avoid them, which is why I'm forbidding you from leaving this Institute! So don't even think of taking a single step outside till daybreak."_

_It's the sentence that snaps everything between them._

_For a moment mother and daughter stare at each other, one middle aged red head with lines drawn too young on her face – one sixteen years old, her backpack slung over her shoulder, looking like there was a stranger before her._

"_After everything," Clary whispers, "everything I've had to face because you wouldn't tell me the damn truth when you had the chance – you still think you can order me about?"_

"_Please, Clary," her mother pleads, but Clary stalks right past her. "I don't want to lose you."_

"_And I don't want to lose who I am. Not again."_

_Perhaps the barb, the reminder that her mother blinded her for years was too much but Clary has no intention of apologising, and she instead slams the door behind her, satisfied at the sharp sound it makes. It feels like each hurried step taken away from her mom is freeing her, every moment of defying the rules is making Clary her own person, and that makes her feel both elated and strong. Even as the anger, no the fury ebbs away she doesn't feel like turning back and crying to her mom like she used to. And if something feels good, like a right that's been denied to you your whole life and finally given, then surely it is so._

_As she goes though the Institute she passes Jace's door and for a second, hesitates._

_The man she loves is sleeping in this room. She should knock, ask for him to come join her – he'd do it in a second. But he's been so distant recently, putting up barriers, not talking to her. And she's fine by herself; she shouldn't let her mother's babying get to her. She smiles and moves on, leaving Jace to sleep the night away._

_She takes the elevator down to the street – even at 3 in the morning lights are on and cars clutter up the street, and there are taxi's carting drunk teens to and from the New York clubs. The subway is nearly empty, just a few hoodies who back off when they see the knife peeking out from her top pocket. She dodges a policeman on her way out, as silent as the night with her shadow hunter training. _

_Simon told her he's outside his house, waiting for her – she could hear the pain and betrayal in his voice, even as he tried to hide it. She has to go through back streets to get to him but she doesn't care – she's done much more dangerous things in her short life. With her knife and her runes she's perfectly safe._

_That was her last thought before the Manticore._

"Darling? C'mon, wake up. You need to eat." A cool hand brushes against her forehead and she mumbles something – she doesn't know what, but it makes him laugh. "No need to have that attitude angel, it's just time to get up."

_Raphael. _It all comes back suddenly and she opens her eyes to find him staring down at her, a taunting smirk written all over his beautiful face. One hand caresses her skin from her cheekbone to her lower jaw and he rubs his thumb over her cheek, making her eyes flutter closed for a second.

Downstairs there's a thump and a feral roar, breaking her out of her revere. She sits up, realising a second too late that the clothes aren't familiar, but thankfully they aren't indecent either. A green silky top, a pair of low slung jeans – perhaps showing off her curves a bit more than she'd wish with a vampire around, but nice, soft against her skin. She eyes Raphael's hand, now hanging loose at his side, and tries to ignore the little tingle from his cold touch.

"Welcome to the Hotel Dumont. Congrats on surviving night one, you're doing better than most." He grins at her, perched happily on her bed and borderline in her space, but she notes that his enthusiasm seems a little masked, a little fake.

She doesn't remember much, just being flung from the sidewalk and hitting the concrete wall with a thud. It wasn't much of a fight – it had her pinned within a second, and it was quick to prove to her who was boss. She remembers it being torn off her by powerful hands, the flood of cold air on her bloody skin, and the monster that killed it. She hadn't recognised Raphael at first, he'd always seemed so clean and clinical to her – the vampire that ripped into the Manticore with his teeth was someone else entirely.

"I – I need to phone my mom. And Jace, and Simon – my god, I said I'd meet Simon." She rolls out of the bed, which is in a sparsely decorated but still grand room, and looks around for her phone. To her surprise Raphael is holding it, and he isn't offering it to her.

She looks from her mobile held loosely in his cold grip to his eyes, blank and dark. She takes a step back, brushing against the bed – his bed, most likely – because if he wants to stop her contacting anyone, if he wants to kill her, she is completely defenceless against him.

"No need to worry, I'm not going to tie you up," _unless you want me to_ seems to be the unsaid message, "but I don't think you should call your mom yet. It's a long story. How are you feeling?"

"Fine," she mumbles, realising for the first time that she has at least three bandages on. She sits back down, wishing she'd had a few hundred more hours to sleep with.

"Liar," he laughs, "you look terrible. What on earth possessed you to go wandering out at night? There are bad creatures in this world angel, and not all vampires would be as kind as I was."

She shrugs, defeated – his quick voice, his piercing gaze is making her dizzy. "Simon's been kicked out, he phoned for help. Of course I went."

"Ah, as always, anything for the daylighter. And Jace, why didn't he go with you?" Raphael, Clary noted, seemed to have mastered the twenty questions game.

"He was asleep," she says, hoping that he didn't notice that she-

"You flinched at your boyfriends' name. Trouble in paradise?" But no, the almighty vampire with hyper senses never misses anything.

"Look," she says, trying to sound authoritative, "can you give me my phone and let me leave? I'm alive, hurrah, and I promise never to do it again. I seriously need to go help Simon."

His wicked grin and excitable energy soaks away, like a layer of paint being stripped down to reveal the blank and dead funeral mask. It's so sudden that it's like time has stopped, only a viscous sort of patience and fury in his dark eyes showing that he's still sort-of living. Then he sighs, the moment breaks, and holds out his hand for her, every bit the gentleman and the human. With his beautiful, sharp mask back in place, he gives her a smile that shows off his fanged front teeth.

"Will you come with me? There's something you need to see."

**A/N: Well, I hope you enjoyed seeing some of the dashing Raphael again, and one of those wonderful mum-fights we all get into.**

**Leave a review for me if you want a review for you, though I warn you I can only review in fandoms I actually know. Guten Nacht, meine Freunde! **


	3. Captured Here

Captured Here

"_Look," she says, trying to sound authoritative, "can you give me my phone and let me leave? I'm alive, hurrah, and I promise never to do it again. I seriously need to go help Simon."_

_His wicked grin and excitable energy soaks away, like a layer of paint being stripped down to reveal the blank and dead funeral mask. It's so sudden that it's like time has stopped, only a viscous sort of patience and fury in his dark eyes shows that he's still sort-of living. Then he sighs, the moment breaks, and holds out his hand for her, every bit the gentleman and the human. _

"_Will you come with me? There's something you need to see."_

Clary POV:

She takes his hand, the skin smooth and cool and strong under her artist's fingers, and he pulls her up gracefully. His old smile returns for a moment and she smiles back like a first date, nervous and delighted, before he lets go and she's left feeling empty and somehow colder.

He turns on his heel and leaves the room, unlocking the bedroom door and leading her through to a vast living room, a sort of apartment – she's too bewildered to speak. There's no kitchen, just a big shiny fridge to the side and a collection of fluffy sofas – but most of the space is taken up by an ornate wooden desk on a raised dais. He heads straight for it and unlocks a package from one of the draws – everything seems to have a lock on it here.

He offers it to her and she takes it, amazed at how ordinary it is. She used to buy CD's off the internet and they'd come in these sorts of yellow envelopes, it even has the label of the company on it. She slides her finger along the already opened packaging, pulling out the photographs inside. Unable to stop herself she makes whimpering sound like a kicked dog, but when she looks to Raphael he remains stoic – as though none of this really matters to him, and she's pretty sure it doesn't.

The photo on top was of Sebastian, smiling wildly at the camera and holding up a vampire's head like it was a prize fish. Surprisingly she knows him from Shadowhunter history books, he was called Jonas De'vault and he, along with his coven in Washington, had travelled all over the world promoting the accords. They would never have been signed if not for him. There were more photos too, of safe houses set on fire, of child massacres in the mortal world, of werewolves and warlocks and the fey and the children of the night. In each one a red circle had been drawn as a crown of spikes, obviously Sebastian's new symbol for world domination.

Then she sees the last photo, and she holds it carefully, terrified of it because it's not a picture but a quote. _And thus you have defied me, like a gateway opened to my revenge._ No name, no signature – just his sickening voice echoing in her mind.

She thought he was dead, gone, never to touch their lives again. She thinks of his hair under her fingers when she kissed him, of the manic look in his eyes when he'd killed Hodge. The pain, the nightmares, the wishing late at night he'd never been born – it was like he'd corrupted her, like he was constantly there whenever she was scared. Maybe she knew somehow that he wasn't dead because he certainly hadn't left her alone.

"Maryse phoned last night to tell me that they'd be sent to everyone who was key to winning the war," he tells her formally, like a solder giving a report, "I told her that you were safe here and not to send anyone or say anything."

"Raphael…" she whispers, needing inexplicably to know that someone understood her. Not just him, though she wants desperately to hear his voice, wants him to say it'll all be okay – she left her mom so brutally last night, and now she must be panicking, her daughter missing and her twisted son after them all. "I can't – why does this mean I shouldn't call?"

"No-one knows you're here, Clary, only my coven and they'll keep quiet if I tell them to. This place is a fortress with a hundred and seventy-two guards, if you stay here you'd be protected." She stiffens at the idea, surprised he'd even suggest it when he's always hated her so much. But she can't help but also find it appealing, any offer that could hide her from Sebastian she would take. There was just one gorgeous, blonde haired problem.

"You realise I have a boyfriend, right? A loving, amazing boyfriend who I really don't intend to leave?" She says and he shrugs, either not bothered or just not interested. He lopes gracefully – every step was silent with a vampire – closer to her, into her personal space. For some reason she can't understand her feet won't move her backwards.

"I know angel, I just don't let insignificant details like that effect me." He's completely in her face now, and she can't tell from his smirk that he finds this all very funny. He's so beautiful though, alluring, like a panther on the chase. She shakes her head and steps away, spotting the sofa and walking over to it – she just needs space from him.

"Look, please, let's think this through. What's the options?" To her total lack of surprise, he's followed her.

"For you or me?" He asks, sitting next to her but – thankfully – far enough away that she can breathe properly.

"You first," she says and runs her hands along on the heap of blankets on his couch, fluffy and soft – she loves them immediately.

"Well I'd say I have two options. Firstly that I stay here with my coven and rely on their loyalty, which has been pretty good since the war. Sebastian knows where I am but I'm in the strongest position I can be, surrounded by most of my allies and in a City I know well. Secondly I run – I stand down from my coven and I hide somewhere where no man should be able to find me, and then I wait, because in time Sebastian surely will. Can you guess which one I'll pick?" His amused tone is back, his fire and she almost sighs with relief – almost.

"And for me? I have to have more than two."

"Yes, I'd give you three, possibly four. Your first is the same as my second, you hide somewhere remote and then he kills you. Perhaps a better idea in your case, as you're going to die anyway, and this might give you decades of time – you could take Jace, it could be like a fairy tale romance." He mocks her with his smile, because he knows that Jace would never go and that makes her so insecure she's ashamed.

"Raphael," she warns tiredly, "will you just try to be decent for a while? Okay, so I don't have the first option. What's the next one?"

"The Institute?" He doesn't need to say more, it's so obviously a flawed plan.

"No way," she says, her forehead creasing in frustration, "he knows I stayed there, he's bound to attack it. And against Sebastian, I'd just get us all killed."

"Well, it's worth remembering that he plans to attack the Lightwoods anyway, so you wouldn't be endangering them more than they already are. But yes, you would die pointlessly and horrifically. The same goes for staying at the glittering warlock's or the dogs or any of your other weird friends." His words, though harsh, ring true. She slumps back on the sofa, wishing she could find a single way out that didn't involve living with vampires for who knows how long.

"You said there was a third way to go…" It's her last, desperate hope.

"Alicante, in Idris. As a Shadowhunter you could claim refuge there, you'd be protected, but…"

"They're not safe. Do you think – Maryse says they are, but do you think they're less corrupt than before?"

"I think liberalising, accepting new ideas and changing a culture that's stood for a thousand years takes a long time. War hurries that along and they've come far but with so many Shadowhunters dead… lots of powerful people have been rapidly replaced. They don't know what they're doing, they both despise and depend on the Downworlder Council, and soon enough they're going to start using you, especially with Sebastian back."

"So I guess that ties it up nicely. You're my only option." She pauses, contemplating that. "Well, thanks for letting me stay, at least."

"You're welcome. So, shall we go tell your mother you're staying with a vampire coven for the foreseeable future?"

His smile, as always, is made to mock her.

**A/N: Thanks for reading! This is the last of the chapters I've already written, so I am now going to have to put some work in. :-(**

**Greygirl2358: Immortal vampire, doesn't particularly care what anyone thinks, holds power over other vampires and can talk in Spanish? Yes, yes, I'd say that's very hot:-)**

**And a humungous, elephant sized thanks also to **_**pizzapie IS MINE**_**, **_**Huntress3419**_**, **_**mortalinstrumentsgurl1**_** and **_**Greygirl2358 **_**for their unwavering enthusiasm and support –these guys are awesome, do check their stuff out if you have time!**


	4. The Tragic Illusion

**A/N: I am so, so sorry. I thought I would have Wi-Fi at some point on my holiday but there was almost none:-( I promise to update as much as I can from now on though!**

**I hope you don't mind that I switched tense...**

**LINE BREAK**

He gave her the illusion of privacy at least, leaving her with the photographs in one hand and the phone in the other. She wished that he would leave, but instead he sat at his desk as though absorbed by the papers in front of him. Perhaps it was just the stress and Sebastian's grinning face staring up at her, but even with the windows boarded shut she felt watched. Her phone, cool from Raphael's tight grip, sat nestled in her palm. The password had been removed and she rolled her eyes at her new host's blatant lack of respect.

She scanned the text's first, all fourteen of them, each more desperate than the last. Again, they have all been read whilst she slept. At first it was just Simon complaining of her lateness, as convinced as Clary was that eventually she would be there, that nothing could pull her down. Then suddenly she was bombarded with messages from everyone, Isabelle, Simon, Luke, her mom, Maryse, Jace, even Alec and he was travelling. They all asked where she was, what had happened, why she was missing, and then panicked once they realised Sebastian was back. The last text was from Maryse, clearly after she had spoken to Raphael. _Come home safe, honey._

She hadn't realised that she had become a daughter to Maryse. It choked her up and made her want to cry, realising that there was a mother out there who accepted her completely and would be there whenever Clary needed her.

Quickly she dialled her own mom's number, and Jocelyn picked up on the first ring.

"Clary, is that you?" Jocelyn's frantic voice filtered through the phone, irritatingly loud. Clary shushed her, glancing up at Raphael, who was acting as though she didn't exist.

"Mom, is there anyone else in the room with you?" Clary's mom took a sharp breath but said nothing. Clary repeated the question, more forcefully this time. There was a quiet laugh from where Raphael is sitting, but he gave her an innocent look in response to her glare, and she had to make do.

"No- no, I'm fine," Jocelyn said, clearly indicating that someone was there with her. A door closes on the other end of the line and Jocelyn began to cry. "Baby, you're alright! Oh, I thought I wouldn't ever see you again. I am so, so sorry."

Clary paused, unsure how to react. Her mom didn't cry, didn't break down. All Clary's life she had been loving and caring but slightly withdrawn, slightly stony. Clary had expected her mom to tell her off, not to cry like a little girl.

"Mom, I'm okay," she said at last, trying to keep her voice down. "It'll be just fine. You know I love you, I didn't mean it. Don't cry."

There was a sniffle on the other end of the line, and then Clary could hear her mom taking a deep breath. She sighed in relief.

"Mom, I need you to swear on the angel that you'll do exactly as I ask you. I swear I'll only ask you to do things that protect me, or protect you."

There was a silence as her mother thought. Then, soft and scared, her mom swore to do exactly as her daughter asked.

"Okay, I don't want to scare you but I – I can't come home yet," Clary paused, unsure of herself before she ploughs on. "You know the photo's sent to everyone, from Seb- Jonathon?"

"Of course, but Clary, you need to come home if you're in danger. Simon can't protect you; he doesn't even have anywhere to live."

"I'm not at Simon's… mom, don't freak out but I'm at Raphael's. You can't tell anyone, not even Luke. And don't tell Jace, he'll only come looking for me." The silence was worse than the shouting she expected. Her mom was strict, and before the Shadowhunters her word had been law. Clary knew that she was stronger than her mom, and that she was nearly an adult now, but she still felt like she had to obey.

"Clary," her mother said slowly, "there is no way you can stay with a vampire. Especially one like Raphael."

"Raphael has no reason to hurt me," Clary said, thinking of his fury when Simon became a daylighter and his less-than-subtle flirting. "This is the only way, mom."

**LINE BREAK**

It took another twenty minutes before Clary could hang up. Her mom had cried, whisper-yelled, commanded and begged her to come back to the institute. But she had given her oath, and she had to stick to it. By the time Clary was saying goodbye Raphael was openly staring at her.

"It has always amazed me, the lengths Shadowhunters go to, to keep their word," he said, leaning elegantly back in his chair. His eyes bored into her, but his expression was calm, amused. "Would you risk everything to keep a promise?"

Clary stood, and walked a few steps towards him. It was a rubbish instinct, the desire to be closer to a vampire, but she didn't particularly care. "Of course, if I had sworn on the angel," she said and the corner of his mouth lifted up into an irresistible smile.

"But you think it's foolish," he stated, and she couldn't think of a way to lie to him. She just shrugged and he grinned at her, that grin full of energy and devil-may-care delight. "So why pretend? Why act like a perfect little shadowhunter when you think they're wrong half the time and cruel the rest?"

She hated it when he got it so right. "Because what's the alternative? Letting demons overrun the world?"

He played with his pen for a moment, studying her closely. His mask was up but there was a burning in his eyes… if anything, Clary would call it passionate.

"The alternative is trying to make it better."

A few months ago Clary would have fallen for Raphael's tricks. She would have thought he was a pioneer, struggling to bring around a new age, and she would have helped him on the road to power. Instead, her voice was cold, direct.

"Valentine wanted to make things 'better' as well. Have you never heard the phrase 'democracy is the worst form of government except all the others that have been tried'?" He didn't flinch, but it felt like a triumph all the same.

"Winston Churchill," he noted the quote with a wave of his hand. "Still, democracy can and must be improved. _To improve is to change, to be perfect is to change often._"

She laughed when she realised they was using quotes the way Jace did. His name stung her though, a rude reminder that she shouldn't be here, arguing with another boy in a way that bordered on flirtatious. "Churchill again? I still don't trust you. You would take power of any kind without pause. I don't like politicians."

He didn't seem worried. She was leaning on his desk now, her feet having carried her onto the raised platform, the solid wood cutting into her hand. It was strangely smooth and polished under fingertips.

If she hadn't been distracted by the carved desk, she would have seen the momentary slip in the mask and the desire that illuminated his pale face. As it was Raphael was smiling when she looked up.

"Regardless, we are stuck together now. Hungry?" He asked, and her stomach contracted at the thought. He grinned and stood up, straight into her space, close and personal. "I'm afraid we don't have any human food at the moment, so we'll have to go out."

"But – doesn't that defeat the point? Of me hiding here?" Clary hated how breathless she sounded, and the way she _quivered_ when he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Perhaps. But I can't be bothered to baby you, and you would go crazy if you were stuck here all day and night. I know a 24-hour diner nearby; Sebastian won't go looking for you there."

Clearly there was no way round it. She took an unsteady step back, feeling his sharp gaze on every inch of her skin, and almost jerked towards the door. He chuckled behind her, but she ignored him.

He unlocked the door, leading her through the Hotel of Death.

**A/N: If you're still here after all this time, thank you. I won't even ask you to review, because you've already done your part by sticking around...**


	5. Sweet Little Thing

**A/N: I've only been to NY once, so all errors in that context are the fault of the universe being potty.**

Raphael POV:

_She's a funny thing_. It was his first thought when she blanched at the motorbike, its gleaming metal and soft leather making it the favourite of his collection. She was so brave most of the time, fighting Valentine, visiting the Seelie Court, storming into his Hotel to get her rat-friend back. But now and then…

He sighed with an impatience he didn't feel. It was far too much fun, seeing a shadowhunter weak and afraid, especially a shadowhunter that had caused him so many problems. "Clary, you've ridden on these bikes before. It's not that bad."

She glared at him, a kitten pitting herself against a bloodhound. "_That_ was because I had no choice. This is different."

"How so?" He asked, amused. "I could just leave you here, alone. And then you would have to venture through the hotel yourself… and take my word for it, you would be very appetizing to all the new vampires down there."

She froze, eying him. Her beauty was not lost on Raphael, nor her anger. "You wouldn't."

He swung his leg over and switched the engine on, revving the handle. The bike purred – he'd never been a fan of loud, guttural sounding engines – and he inched it forwards.

"Last chance…" he said, intoxicated by the quick pulsing of her heart, the blood flushing her pale cheeks. She stomped over to the bike and slipped over the side, landing right against his back. There was no feeling in the world like having a beautiful girl cling to his waist, even if said girl was grumpy and unwilling. She held only the thin material of his t-shirt, refusing to touch his skin.

He pressed her palms down gently and closed her fists, her little gasp hot against the back of his neck. He would almost feel Clary pouting. "Hold on. I drive fast."

And he pushed down on the accelerator.

The wind whipped at them, angry and determined, as they fell through the air. Raphael had always loved this moment – the first few seconds it took for the bike to kick into gear and start flying. One day, it would fail and he would hit the pavement like the banished angels that fell to earth in legends, except Raphael's immortality only stretched so far. The bike shuddered once and started to rise in the air, Clary now wrapped around him completely, face buried in the joint between neck and shoulder, both arms tight around his waist. She hadn't screamed once.

He could feel her shaking though, and cursed in Spanish when he realised she was cold. Small, human details like that often evaded him. He had remembered to feed her at least, but not to keep her warm.

"I hate you!" She yelled suddenly over the wind, and he laughed as he caught her wide eyed gaze in the wing mirrors – she had just looked down.

"Love you too, babe's!" He shouted back, and then went into a steep dive before she could react. Her arms contracted around him, doing strange but familiar things to his vampire physique. He was torn by guilt and desire when she tilted her mouth towards his neck, practically kissing him in her fear of the descent. He slowed the bike, pulling it almost horizontal as the tires touched the ground, rolling along before he stopped it with his feet.

She didn't let go though, arms still clenched around his waist. She was just inches away and his hyper senses made him aware of everything… the tangled inferno of hair, the mixed scents from her skin and clothes, the blissful pumping of the blood in her veins. She was _delicious_ but for now, he couldn't have her.

"You okay, darling?" He asked, and then cursed the concern in his voice. He was over a hundred years old; he did not lose his cool over pretty human girls like a newbie.

"Fine," she said, still clearly put out. She pulled away, sliding backwards on the bike before swinging a leg over. Her wide green eyes swept over the dirty streets, the bordered up houses and the tacky graffiti. This was one of the more dangerous neighbourhoods, but that didn't bother Raphael – getting mugged was hardly a problem for a vampire. She shivered though, hands sliding over the places where her knives used to be, before Raphael had removed them of course.

He hopped off the bike and set the security up to high. Even with them eating just a few feet away from where it was parked, someone would doubtlessly try and steal it.

"Harold's Happy Hamburgers?" She asked, one eyebrow raised.

He laughed. With the drooping sign, empty seats and general air of disuse, there was no way this place looked 'happy'. It was a sad run down place, and there were dozens like it New York City. The chances of Sebastian or any other his demon cronies coming here was minimal.

"Hey, what time is it?" She asked suddenly, glancing up at the night sky. "I set off from the Institute at 4-ish…"

"You slept all day," he said, pushing open the door. Tatty signs welcomed him, but there appeared to be no-one serving. It only took a moment for his vampire hearing to pick up the heavy snuffles and snoring of an overweight male, and his sluggish heartbeat with its priceless load. "It's nearly two, now."

Puzzled, she watched him from the corner of her eye as he hopped over the counter and banged on the door to the kitchen. There was a startled shout, followed by a dull groan as the man heaved himself to his feet. The sting of alcohol assaulted Raphael as soon as the man stumbled out and he coughed – scents were so strong to him, and the cook smelled like a food waste bin.

"Wha' d'ya want?" The man asked, holding himself up against the counter, bloodshot eyes just about focused on Raphael. Clary, to the vampire's great surprise, slunk behind him, close and personal. Hiding behind him.

"Darlin'?" He asked softly, one hand wrapping around her wrist, anchoring her. "What do you want to eat?"

She paused, possibly thinking, probably wondering whether it was safe to consume food from such a place. The chances of it passing Health and Safety regulations were minimal. Then her shoulders squared and her chin jutted out and she said, "A bacon sandwich please."

He had forgotten she was adorable.

The man waddled off, and Raphael led them to a vaguely clean table. He was still holding her wrist but he let go to sit opposite her, pleased to see the bike still there out the window. He wasn't sure if sitting so close, with only a drunk cook around and her unarmed was a very good idea. Her charm, her beauty, her personality that alternated between little sweet thing to be protected and fighter to bow down to… it had all taken him a back. Surprised him.

And every politician _hated_ being surprised.

"You know," she said casually, her eyes showing how very serious she was, "I wish you would stop reading my texts. My phone is private."

He shrugged. His reasons were sound, and he rarely regretted anything because he always acted logically. "That was a one-off. If Jace or any of your other little friends knew where you were and were planning to collect you, I had to be ready for them. If that wolf you love so much, Luke," – the name was practically spit out – "had intended to attack with his pack, my coven needed to be prepared."

He paused, looking at her gravely. "No-one ever comes first, little darling. It's always the coven I look out for above everything and everyone else."

"Not above your own life," she said, staring right back. She was such a funny little thing – eyes hard, voice strong, but slumped and small and sweet. "You always look after yourself."

"Right now, my coven _is_ my life. If they faltered or lost I would run and save my self, yes. But till that day my loyalty is absolute."

There was an untidy bang as the cook came out with her sandwich, swinging door colliding with hard wall, and her eyes went wide and round with hunger. His throat contracted – he couldn't see the appeal of human food, though some vampires lusted over wine and sweet fruits, especially when spiked with blood. He could see the appeal of her though.

She ate quickly, no longer having the time for conversation with Raphael. He didn't mind, he knew well enough the sting of hunger and the sweetness of its release. When she finished, swallowing the last bite of the pig flesh that revolted him and the bread that just confused him – she was eating a mushed up _plant_ – he smiled and held out his hand for her to take.

"It's time we get you home. I have a few little errands to do before the night is out, and you need to rest."

She frowned at him, clearly annoyed as he dropped the correct change on the table and stood up. He didn't particularly care about paying but he had a feeling she would, brought up as she was. "I'm fine, I slept all day."

"No, you recovered from your injuries all day," he disagreed, wrapping an arm around her waist when she shivered from the cold outside. He really should have brought her a jacket. "Now, you're going to sleep properly."

And if he liked the feeling of her big green eyes turning to him and not protesting a word, and her arms clinging to him without reservation, and the fact that she trusted him to take her safely home – what of it? Because right then, there were street lights below them and stars above them and politics seemed a world away.

They were just a fairy-tale girl and a nightmare boy on a motorbike that flew.

**A/N: Hello, dearest!**

**I should like to thank ****whirlwind29, Huntress3419, ****greygirl2358, ****Black****Heart, ****birdssaytweet****, ****GOOD, ****Preciossa, ****pizzapie IS MINE**** and ****mortalinstrumentsgurl1**** for doing something kind for someone they'd never met, despite not having to and despite not getting any reward. They gave me their time and their encouragement and their support, and it is the one and only reason this chapter is up. I am very, very grateful.**

**Q: Do you like the name darlin'/little darling?**


	6. Little Bit of Crazy

Little Bit Of Crazy

There was a girl waiting for them, outside Raphael's door. She had a bag thrown over one shoulder, and her slightly ratty clothes were stained with drops of blood. It was her hair that caught Clary's attention though – thick, soft blond hair that reached the back of her knees. She had the face of an angel; it was only her smile that was deadly.

"Josie," Raphael said, wordlessly putting himself in front of Clary. "What are you doing here?"

"Checking on the patient!" She said, and her bubbly, cheery voice grated on Clary's nerves. It was the voice of someone talking to a puppy, not to their leader. "It's so lovely to meet you Clary!"

A sound rumbled from the back of Raphael's throat – a deadly growl, low and possessive. "She's not a toy, Josie. Leave her well alone."

If Josie was disturbed she didn't show it, instead her smile got impossibly wider. "Aww, _Raphael_, you know I have to check on her! She has wounds that need attending. Unless you want to?" She held out the bag, sweet as sugar, but Raphael made no move to take it. His hand wound behind him to take hers, sending electricity up her arm and into her heart. She was _not_ supposed to be feeling giddy because a vampire took her hand.

There was a pause as Josie held out the bag, smiling deliciously, and Raphael glared at her. Finally he straightened out of a crouch he was probably unaware of and stepped to the side, leaving Clary exposed but not letting go of his tender hold on her. "Five minutes Josie, and I watch."

Josie pretended to gasp, her hand flying to her frozen heart. "But Raphael! She's a lady! You can't watch a lady be treated by her doctor."

"Um, since when were you my doctor?" Clary asked, glancing at Raphael. His expression didn't change, but with him that seemed like a good sign. "And I really don't care if Raphael is there."

Josie's smile dropped. Her wide eyes blinked and her lips raised in a snarl, tense and dangerous – before it all melted away again and she went back to being a sweet girlie girl. "But dearie, it's not very polite! Raphael doesn't understand any medicine so there's no _point_ in him being there."

Raphael's polite smile twisted into something between a snarl and a smirk, letting go of Clary's hand and wrapping his arm around her waist. It was wrong, completely wrong to have him there but it felt, inexplicably, right. "The lady has spoken, Josie. Stand aside."

She hissed but backed away from the door, allowing Raphael to drag Clary forwards and twist the key. Clary had never felt anything like it; Jace had never been anything like this. Even without touching her skin Raphael made her feel _heat_, made her a little bit crazy for him. She knew the risk, she knew this was to his advantage so she would never act upon it – but by the Angel was he attractive.

Her mind jumped back to something she'd read, a woman who slept with Picasso, who had this mad thing with him that had never made sense. She said she'd known it would be a catastrophe – but it was a catastrophe she couldn't miss. And that was what Raphael was like, he was the runaway train that she couldn't stop, she could only cling on to for the ride of her life. With Jace it was all addiction, all bravery, all enduring the bad to get to the good. But with Raphael there was no good, there was no happy ending. Just a choice she could make once or never at all, a choice she couldn't go back from.

He was insanity, delirium. Instinctually she knew he would be the best thing she would ever experience and the worst fall she would ever ride out. He wasn't a romance, he was a mistake. But perhaps, he could be, he might be, the best mistake of her life.

"Clary?" His hand waved in front of her face, confusion echoing in his eyes. "You there?"

She forced herself to laugh slightly. "Sorry, I was sort-of out of it. Just tired, I guess." She had never felt so awake in her life. That she wanted Raphael, that he was her guy so much more than Jace was, that he was standing well into her personal space and close enough to _touch_ was intoxicating her. There was no way she could sleep now.

He gave her a long, measured look that said both _I don't believe you_ and _you're going to tell me later_, and she shivered slightly. She wasn't quite sure how to act – but she knew he would see right through her lies.

"Oh Clary, has Raphael been keeping you awake? That's so bad of him!" Josie gave her a twisted, forced, territorial smile that made Clary feel sick to her stomach before Raphael wrapped his arm around her again. His proximity was giving her butterflies, so close and yet so far.

"You're wasting your five minutes, Josie," he said, smooth and silky, right by her ear. Whether he realised it or not, his arms tightened around her. "I suggest you hurry up."

The vampire healer gave an over exaggerated sigh before dropping her bag on the sofa. "Okay, Clary dear, sit down and take your top off so I can change the bandage."

Clary's breathing stopped; she was suddenly very aware of Raphael's arm around her waist. She would never have thought cool and unrelenting would be hotter than normal temperature and loose, but it bloody well was. He wasn't just attractive, he was irresistible. And apparently she was about to take off her top in front of him.

The Barbie of a vampire lifted a delicate eyebrow and played with a strand of ridiculously long hair. "I did warn you, dearie. He can still leave."

She squared her shoulders, slipping out of his embrace to sit on the sofa. Gathering up all the courage she had and glancing back to watch Raphael she grabbed the hem of her shirt and pulled it off, revealing a simple bra underneath.

Maddeningly, he had no reaction at all. Did she really have that little to offer? She was particularly flat chested, but she still had no top on. He was a _guy_. Surely he was at least supposed to stare!

"Ah, you poor thing! Lily told me you had wounds, but I didn't realise there was that many bandages!" Past the false sympathy Josie's smile was victorious.

"It doesn't hurt," she said, more for Raphael's benefit than her self-appointed doctor's. "I can hardly even feel it."

"The cuts are shallow," Raphael said, still not looking at her chest. "Lily cleaned them and the other injuries, and gave her heavy duty painkillers so she slept for a while."

Josie nodded, and then handed her a pair of scissors. "Cut the bandage off and unwind it. I'll get a fresh one out."

It stung a little as she pressed the cold metal close to her skin, but quickly got better. The cuts were indeed shallow, but long and raking all across her stomach. Already they were starting to heal over. Damn – if only she had a stele, she could draw an iratze.

She tried to focus on Josie as the girl applied a stinging cream to the wounds – pressing far more than was strictly needed – but it was hard. Constantly she felt his presence, close enough that it was awkward to ignore him but too far away to touch. She sneaked a few glances, but every time he just looked bored with the whole thing – compared to earlier, it was a shock to the system.

His mask was back in place, and Clary couldn't help but wish to rip it off.

"There, all done," Josie said as she wound the bandage tightly around her wounds. She handed Clary some a collection of little pills. "Take this white one now, and in twelve hours start taking these red and yellow ones two at a time every four hours. I'll come check again tomorrow! Till then…" She smiled, sort of, and flounced out the room. The moment she was gone Raphael was up, locking the door behind her and giving Clary time to shrug on her shirt, almost tearing it in her haste. She tugged at the bandage, which was suspiciously tight, and arranged her top to fall naturally.

"I apologise, Josie is incredibly difficult to live with sometimes," he said, with a strange stilted sound to his voice. Uncharacteristically, he chose the chair near her instead of sharing the sofa. "She was reborn just eleven years ago and is one of the most intelligent, dangerous vampires I know. Lily can fix basic wounds but Josie is – well, I guess you could say a world leader in the field of vampire medicine."

He laughed, as though still surprised at the absurdity of the situation. "Why do you let her stay?" Clary asked, then cursed herself for sounding so young and naïve.

He looked her full in the eye and smiled, soft and tender, the devil's smile she was sure. "Because even if she is rude and hard to control and unreliable, at least she's here. Every major coven is against each at some point, and girls like Josie are incredibly valuable. Wouldn't you rather she be your weapon than someone else's?"

Clary nodded slowly. She could understand that. "But why is she so… bitchy? I mean, she acts like a child, well, a very messed up child."

Raphael shrugged, apparently unworried by her cussing. He stood up lazily and headed towards the kitchen, pouring a glass of water from the sink as he talked over his shoulder. "She lost everyone and everything when she became a vampire. Before she was top of her school, beautiful and heading to the best university in the country – then suddenly that was all over, and she was damned for all eternity."

He came back and handed her the water as though nothing had happened, and he'd just made an idle comment about the weather. He nodded towards the pills in her hand. "I suggest you do as the doctor says, she ripped one of the newborns to pieces earlier for going hunting before she said he could. Refused to put him back together too."

The worrying thing was how casually he said it, and for the first time Clary truly doubted her decision to stay with a vampire coven. She took a big sip of water and then downed the little white cylinder, wincing at the taste and throwing one last glance at Raphael.

For a moment she thought she saw something, some strong, ravaging emotion that lit him up with an angry, brazen fire. Then it was gone and he smiled politely back with his courteous indifference to her that she so despised.

_Raphael, Raphael_, she thought with a sigh. _What am I to do about you?_

**A/N: Well that moved the plot on a bit! Sexy vampires dance badly in kitchens shouting writing encouragement with every review, so keep 'um coming!**

**You review me = I review you. **


	7. Underhand Tactics

Underhand Tactics

Raphael POV:

It got worse by the hour, this addiction to her. And that was the bloody awful thing – it had been just that, a few hours and most of them spent sleeping. He was a vampire, he had centuries ahead of him, all of time, yet in a few measly hours he had become obsessed with the girl.

He watched her without giving a single hint of his interest, taking in her red curls and her vivid green eyes, growing duller by the second. It was underhand, Clary would surely tell him later, but the first little drug was actually a sleeping pill. Her eyes closed and she smiled at him tenderly, unseeing.

"Damn, you were right. I am tired," she said, stroking her face with the tip of one finger. She sighed, a sweet, exhausted sound. "Thanks for everything…"

He smiled at her, safe in the knowledge that she was already drifting into Morpheus' Realm, and sat next to her on the couch. Her eyes flickered towards him before closing again, and she leaned her weight against him. "That's okay, darlin'. It's no problem to look after you."

She made no answer but a soft sound in the back of her throat, sleeping peacefully against him. Struck by a sudden desire for human comfort, he pulled her into his arms.

_What now?_ He asked himself, and his first thought was as immediate as it was painful. _Use her_. Whilst she didn't love him by any means, only a fool would miss the heated looks, the way her eyes lingered on his face, and the ease she had around him. But at the same time… he would never said he couldn't, because he could damn well do anything, but the idea of hurting her was bland in his mouth, unpleasant on his tongue and was a burn in his throat that he didn't recognise. Whatever gain there could be in stealing a hero's girlfriend – which was pretty much nothing – was over shadowed by her fiery hair and the sweet laugh and her '_I still don't trust you' _that was bollocks because he saw the trust in every glance. She was his lullaby and he wasn't ready for the song to end.

Suddenly feeling watched and hunted he tenderly picked her up in his arms and led her to the bedroom where he lay her down, sliding the covers over her. He caressed her face, kissed her hair and slipped his hand out of her surprisingly tight grip, half horrified and half exasperated to hear himself making nonsense sounds to keep her calm.

Fondly he went to his desk and scribbled a note that he thought summed everything up easily: _drugged you last night, painkillers on the desk, you'll be drained dry if you leave this room._ He slipped it under a glass of water and, after one last look at her sleeping face, he locked the door behind him and headed to the main hall. An old clock nicked from a museum by a friend of his chimed – five am, just approaching sunrise. He knew he should sleep but it had been a long while since he'd felt so alive, so confident. If anything what he needed was a drink, and not the alcoholic kind.

Mind made up he rounded the corner, heading towards the main stores. His best bottles were in his fridge but there was some decent stuff in the main store-

The girl screamed just as he rounded another corner, the crowd cheering as the larger male ripped into her. A _brawl_ in his _corridor._ Without a second fought he pushed through the crowd, throwing them out of his way.

"What the fuck are you doing? _What the fuck?" _He roared, slamming his elbow into the girl's gut before spinning, grasping old timer Michael's arm and snapping it. Michael howled but he could already see Bethany, the girl, getting up again and he slammed his foot down as an anchor, turning, pouncing and biting Bethany in one slick movement. The blood rushed into his mouth, sating him and exciting him at the same time and he took a long drag before forcing himself to not drink her dry. She whimpered but he dropped her without kissing the wound closed, letting her fall at his feet. The crowd which had been so eagerly cheering them on showed their true colours – all but one ran like bats out of hell.

Jodie gave him a big smile and rocked on the balls of her feet. He had often wondered why she would devote her life to healing, till he came to the conclusion that she got off from holding the power of life and death, and she enjoyed being a part of every fight and scuffle without lifting a finger. For a sick freak like Jodie, nothing was better than being praised for sticking around to watch a punishment.

He dealt with Michael first, hauling the shaking young man up and throwing him at the wall. Before he had time to think Raphael was on him, grabbing the curly mop of hair and using it to slam the attached head against the wallpaper. To his credit he took it in silence, and that was enough to refrain Raphael from doing more – a forced blood taking was a favourite of his, but the humiliation in the older ones was never forgotten. He punched him in the gut twice more though.

"Well? You got something to say for yourself? Fighting in my house, under my roof? You utter piece of shit. You're not worth the ground you walk on." Michael opened his mouth for a moment before closing it, hanging his head so much so that Raphael couldn't see a whisper of expression. He dragged his nails into the flesh of his coven member, making him let out a sharp shriek. "You going to say what this was about, hey Mikey? Or am I gonna find a nice sunny spot for you and your little friend to take a walk in?"

Michael shuddered from the threat and glanced up before hiding in fright again. The look was enough though and Raphael dropped him, determined to try his luck on the youngling. She cowered, clearly terrified as he shoved himself up against her. A part of him cried out at his treating a woman that way, at what his body language clearly stated to Bethany, but the other part was remembering the sweltering hells of Egpyt and the bloody mess the old coven had been like before he took over. Yes this was wrong, but it was also necessary.

"Tell me. Tell me what the fuck you know or it won't be pretty for you," he growled at her, sickened at her cry of fear. Sickened at himself for doing this. She whimpered and he pressed her harder into the wall, listening to it creak in protest.

"Please… please…" She glanced at Michael, who just knelt there on the floor like the coward he was. Not that Raphael blamed him. "I- I saw Michael coming back from- from out of the city. I was curious… so I- I asked where he had gone. And he told me to- to…"

_Oh._ This wasn't what he thought it was, but he could hear sincerity in her voice. Michael was pulling himself up, his eyes so wide with fright they were like saucers. No sooner had he moved to run than Jodie was pinning him, her sharp little fingers digging into his neck even as she twisted her wrist to press her bracelet into his cheek. He howled as the silver crucifix scarred his skin.

Raphael pulled back from Bethany, wiping away the remaining blood his earlier bite had caused. Gently he lowered her to ground, touching the top of her head in a blessing and an apology.

"The Transformation room. Now." Without waiting for a reply he strode down the corridor, leaving Jodie and Michael to catch up. There were so many reasons Michael could have went out of the city without permission, but two things were for certain. It wasn't good, and Michael was going to really regret his mistake.

**A/N: I am so, so sorry! I've been revising for mocks and it just takes **_**forever**_**.**

**Task: How many little mistakes are there in this? Low, medium or high?**


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